


And my heart don't wish to roam

by lanyon



Series: Bad Boy Boogie [15]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Confessions of love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:45:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Jack Zimmermann's rookie year and he's all anyone wants to talk about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And my heart don't wish to roam

**Author's Note:**

> +Title from Murray Gold.

Gabriel’s leaning against the boards. Training camp has been fun this year. Kent is in such a good mood that everyone on the team feels the need to comment on it and Max has been doing so well that there’s no doubt he’ll be in the team. 

Gabriel isn’t sure what he expected from Max, though, when it comes to the off-ice situation (and it probably is a situation). The past couple of days have revealed a pattern: Max is hostile in the mornings and then, as the day progresses and they take part in drills and scrimmages, he’s laughing and he’s talking to Gabriel. There’s even a photo on the official Aces Instagram account of the two of them, standing together. Max is leaning down to say something to Gabriel and they look happy. They look _alike_. 

After the team dinner, Max (to use Kent’s phrasing) turns into a dick again. It takes a few days before Gabriel figures that Max has been talking to their father, which seems to have a dampening effect on any fraternal affection.

Today, though, they’re on friendly terms. 

“So, how do they work out the rooming arrangements?” asks Max. He takes off his helmet and runs his hand over his buzzed short hair. Gabriel wonders if he keeps it that short to avoid any comparisons. 

“Well, some of the veterans room alone, if they want, but the rookies have to share with someone. Jeff and Barty have been rooming together for years, though.”

“And you and Parse?”

Gabriel nods, watching Kent out on the ice, skating slowly towards Kivs, doing fuck knows what with the puck. “Yeah, since my rookie year.” He doesn’t tell Max how it came about, the captain feeling sorry for the gay kid before they accidentally hit it off and realised that they really liked rooming together. 

Gabriel grins; rooming together’s going to get even better.

“He’s really good,” says Max. 

“Don’t tell him that,” says Gabriel. “His head’s big enough as it is.”

♠

 **Las Vegas Aces** @lasvegasaces  
At training camp: The Charbonneau brothers. aces.nhl.com/video

♠

“Max is gonna live with Beastly for a while.”

Kent laughs, turning his head to look up at Charbo. “Seriously, does he know what he’s letting himself in for?”

“Hey, I lived with the Olafssons for a lot of my rookie season and it didn’t do me any lasting harm,” says Charbo, smiling down at Kent and lowering his hand to stroke his hair. “And I learned how to change a diaper so, you know? It’ll be character-building.” He leans down and kisses Kent’s forehead. “I did think about offering for him to stay with me, but—”

Kent shifts a little in Charbo’s lap so that he can beg a proper kiss, and it’s one that lingers and deepens. “Mmm, yes,” Kent says, when he pulls back. “You’re never at home.”

“He might notice,” says Charbo, his eyes half-closed and his lips slightly pinker than usual. 

“I was thinking,” said Kent, before he can stop himself or talk himself out of it. 

Charbo lays his hand on Kent’s chest and it’s a comfortable, steadying weight. “Don’t hurt yourself, babe.”

Kent sticks out his tongue which Charbo takes as an invitation, leaning down to suck on it, dragging Kent into another kiss and then Kent’s in a daze, staring up at him, blinking until he remembers that he was going to say something. “Move in with me.” He blinks again. “I mean. At the end of the season. We can see how it goes, being together but—” He swallows. “I just— I see us going somewhere. Like. You moving in with me.”

Charbo hums, betraying no evidence of surprise or terror, which Kent supposes is good. “Can we get a dog?”

♠

2015/16: A new rivalry emerges  
And by new, we mean old. And by rivalry, we mean frenemies. That’s right. Early in the new season, we’ll see the Las Vegas Aces travel to Providence to talk on the Falconers. It’s a match-up that doesn’t usually set the pulses racing, even though they’re both expansion teams on the hunt for another Stanley Cup. 

This season will be different, though. This season will see Kent Parson facing off against Jack Zimmermann for the first time since they were on opposite teams at the World Juniors. 

Parson is a veritable veteran, now, having led the Aces to their first Stanley Cup in 2012. He’s broken every record in the Aces’ history but what’s more telling, is that he’s taken out a couple of Wayne Gretzky’s records, too. What most people have forgotten by now is that this is Parson doing what he does best, and playing against type. This was not in the script. Back during the draft in 2009, Parson was projected to go second in the draft. It was expected that he’d be playing second fiddle to Zimmermann, son of the Other Great One, “Bad” Bob Zimmermann. 

Controversy surrounded the younger Zimmermann’s withdrawal from the draft, while Parson has gone from strength to strength. It’s not fair to say that they’re back on equal ground. Zimmermann is an NHL rookie and Parson has proven himself. 

That doesn’t mean that it’s not a tantalising prospect.

♠

 _Good luck, Zimms_. Kent slips his phone into his pocket and follows Charbo up the steps to the plane. Their first game is in Seattle and the Schooners have made some pretty interesting additions to their team so it’s probably going to be a tough opener. 

Charbo takes his usual seat next to Beastly and Kent exchanges fistbumps with both of them before he slides into the last row, next to Kivs, who’s already plugged into his iPad. 

From where he’s sitting, Kent can see the whole team. His team. There’ve been changes, again, but the core has stayed the same. He thinks he’d be lost with Beastly and without Jeff, who both wear the A like it means something (and it does). There’s Charbo, too, and Kent doesn’t even know where to start. He looks towards the front of the plane and he can see the side of Charbo’s arm because he can’t fit into airplane seats like a normal person, and sitting next to Beastly just compounds the issue. Kent can see the top of his head and the brown curls that are still shorter than usual. 

“You happy?” asks Kivs, giving Kent a look that might be sly if he was capable of being anything other than openly cheerful. 

Kent tilts his head. “Yeah. New season. It’s all good. Why do you ask?”

Kivs grins. “You let out a little sigh, you know? Like this.” Kivs sighs in what Kent can only assume is a terrible impression because there’s no way that Kent sounds like that. He knows he’s a fool for hockey, and for Charbo, and for his guys, but he doesn’t sound that obvious about it. 

“It’s okay, Parse. We know you’re happy to start scoring again.” 

Sometimes, Kent wonders just how much Kivs knows. Sometimes, he wonders if he’s just goalie-weird. 

♠

When they get to Seattle, they go straight to the rink for a short practice. Gabriel’s centring the second line this season and no one’s more relieved than he is that he’s not showing any lasting effects from the concussion. He’s worked hard and Giddings acknowledged it at camp and he’s acknowledging it now. He taps Gabriel on the shoulder and nods at him. 

“You good, kid?”

“Better than good,” says Gabriel because it’s the truth. Kent crowds up behind him, coming off the ice, his hands landing on Gabriel’s hips. 

“Move it, Charbo, move it.”

Gabriel laughs and steps out of Kent’s way before he falls into step with Jeff, traipsing back to the locker room. 

“This is gonna be a good year,” says Gabriel.

“Fuck, yeah,” says Jeff. “Good team, happy captain and I’m gonna be a dad.”

Gabriel stops dead. “What? Oh my god, Jeff, that’s brilliant.” (He hopes it’s brilliant but Jeff is smiling so congratulations seem safe enough at this point.)

Jeff grins and nods. “Yeah, Charlene’s, like, four months along. It’s some pretty heavy shit.”

“What’s heavy shit?” asks Beastly. 

Gabriel jabs a thumb towards Jeff. “You’re gonna have to give Jay some parenting tips.”

“Why? You back rooming with Parse, Jeff?”

“He is _not_ ,” says Barty. “Jeff and I have roommate arrangement. Very delicate and perfect balance.”

Jeff rubs the back of his neck. “So, yeah. Charlene’s pregnant. We’re having a baby in, like, March?”

The locker room erupts into cheers and Jeff looks a little nonplussed, which is strange to see. 

“So, obviously, you’re gonna call your kid Kent?”

“Sure thing, Parse,” says Jeff. “Even if she’s a girl.”

“Really?”

“No way. Charlene’s actually forbidding me from naming our kid after any one of you losers. Except maybe Big Charbo.”

Gabriel ducks his head and makes his way towards the showers, even as Kent starts to protest.  


♠

 **Las Vegas Aces** @lasvegasaces  
Hockey is back!!!!

 **fight me** @hellsqueen  
Going to the Falcs game tonight!! 

♠

When they get to their hotel and strip down to their shorts and undershirts, it’s second nature for Kent to climb into bed after Charbo.

“We’re just napping,” says Charbo, adorably sternly. 

They lie on their sides, facing each other. Kent is stealthy as fuck as he edges closer so his head is on Charbo’s pillow. 

“Kent,” says Charbo. “It’s nap-time.”

“Mmhmm,” says Kent. He puts his palm on Charbo’s hip. 

Charbo sighs and rolls his eyes but the effect is ruined by his small, sweet smile and the way he hooks his leg over Kent’s thigh. They kiss. 

“Sleep,” says Charbo, when he pulls back. 

“Okay,” says Kent, agreeably. He hitches Charbo’s leg higher and presses closer. 

“Kent,” says Charbo, and he’s clearly struggling not to laugh. “If you don’t behave, I’m moving to the other bed.” He touches his lips to Kent’s forehead. “If you do behave and, like, score a hat-trick tonight, I promise to put out when we get back here.” 

Kent laughs. 

♠

Picking Up Where He Left Off  
Kent Parson, captain of the Las Vegas Aces, had his season cut short last year, by a broken ankle. The good news is that he hasn’t lost his scoring touch, getting a hat-trick against the Seattle Schooners. His four-point night, together with goals from linemate Jeff Forester and second-line centre, Gabriel Charbonneau, means that the Aces are showing their hand pretty early.

Across the country, Jack Zimmerman started his NHL career with a goal and an assist as the Providence Falconers went down, 3-2, against the Washington Capitals.  
♠

When the Falconers first play the Aces this season, it’s in Providence. Kent is more tense than usual and Gabriel relents, a little. Normally, he’s pretty much against sex on the road, aside from the odd celebratory hand job, if they win, and it’s at least partly because their room is invariably between their teammates’ rooms and they all know how thin hotel walls can be, after the incident with PB in San Jose. 

This afternoon, though, Gabriel pushes Kent onto his back and drags down his shorts and swallows Kent down. Kent lets out a choked-off cry and then his hands are on Gabriel’s shoulders, his fingers digging in and he’s sighing Gabriel’s name like it’s the only word he knows. 

Gabriel’s not sure if it helps, or not. Kent falls asleep clinging to him, and it takes a long time for Gabriel to follow.

♠

 **fight me** @hellsqueen  
oh holy shit

 **Las Vegas Aces** @lasvegasaces  
Old friends on new ice.

 **battleborn** @battlebornhockey  
oh my god.

 **Providence Falconers** @NHLFalconers  
Faceoff instagram.com/p/PrF0111/ #LVAvsPRO #Zimmermann #Parson

 **fight me** @hellsqueen  
do you think they rehearsed that?

♠

They win. It goes to a shootout but the Aces win. Kent scores his penalty and so does Zimms. Jeff scores his and then Kivs makes a spectacular save from Fox. Benny’s up next and even though Jones, the Falcs goalie, gets something on it, the puck somehow crawls over the line. Then it’s Crash and Kent can barely watch except that Kivs does it again. 

He’s exhausted. After the media and after his shower, he digs out his phone. There are a bunch of texts and Sandy has updated Kit Purrson’s instagram account with a picture of Kit glaring at the television screen. 

_Dinner?_ flashes up a text from Zimms.

 _Sure_. 

Zimms texts back almost immediately. _See you outside your locker room_.

Awkwardly, Kent waves his phone at Charbo. “So, I’m going to meet Zimms for dinner.”

“Fraternising with the enemy, huh?” asks Jeff. 

“Something like that,” says Kent. “I’ve got my keycard.”

“I won’t wait up,” says Charbo and the kicker is that Kent is kind of disappointed though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he wants Charbo to tell him he can’t meet Zimms.

“Uh,” says Max, hovering nearby. “So, Dad came down with Z and Logan.”

Charbo snorts. “I’ll make myself scarce, don’t worry.”

“You okay?” asks Kent, softly.

“Sure,” says Charbo. “I could do with an early night anyway.”

“Does Parse still snore?” asks Jeff. 

“Like a freight-train,” says Charbo and everyone laughs, even Max, who has the good grace to look a little awkward before he leaves the locker room as the favoured son. 

Zimms is waiting outside and he doesn’t look too terrible, given that his team didn’t win. Kent figures he must be better at not winning than he used to be. 

“Good game,” says Zimms and Kent knows he means it. 

“Same,” says Kent. “That was a pretty sick move for the shootout.”

Zimms smiles, that lopsided grin that tugs a little at Kent’s heart. “I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Never doubted it, Zimms.”

♠

Spotted in Providence: After one of the most epic staring contests in sport, Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson put their differences to one side and were spotted having a cosy catch-up in a trattoria in town. Candlelit dinners and checked tablecloths were the only way to make up after a truly epic showdown between the Aces and the Falconers.

♠

Zimms drops Kent back to the hotel. It’s not too long after curfew but it’s long enough that Kent’s going to get fined if management catches wind of it. He’s a tiny bit drunk. Zimms had a couple of beers but nothing more and Kent is so fucking proud of him.

“Is that condescending? I, like, totally don’t mean it to be. But I’m so fucking proud of you, Zimms. You’ve got more points than I do!”

Zimms laughs. “Well, can’t make it too easy for you, Kenny.”

Kent feels warm inside. He turns in the passenger seat and smiles at Zimms. “Seriously. Jack. This is, like. All I ever wanted.”

“What? Breathing garlic over me outside a hotel in Providence?”

“Yes. Exactly this.” Kent’s eyelids feel heavy. “Shut up. You love my garlic breath.” 

Zimms shifts a little and his expression becomes shuttered. “Hey, Kenny. I’ve — I’m seeing someone.” 

“Right,” says Kent. “I didn’t — Shit. I wouldn’t, you know?”

Zimms leans across and kisses Kent’s cheek. It’s a far cry from the way they used to greet each other, with hearty bro-hugs and back-slapping and over-compensating. “It’s all I ever wanted too, you know?”

It’s only after Kent gets out of the car that he realises that he never told Zimms that he was seeing someone too. He hurries into the hotel and doesn’t even think about who might see him arriving back after curfew.

The lights are off in the room when Kent lets himself in. He grabs sleep pants and a t-shirt and goes into the bathroom. He takes a long time to brush his teeth, in case Zimms wasn’t bluffing about the garlic on his breath. 

In the darkness, he can just about see Charbo sprawled out in bed like an overly-muscular octopus and, instead of disturbing him, Kent climbs into the other bed. He’s asleep before he knows it.

♠

 **Las Vegas Aces** @lasvegasaces  
Welcome home, boys. Tonight’s game is at the Battledrome. Bring on the Habs.

♠

“Are you okay?”

Gabriel looks up from taping his stick. 

“Yeah,” he says, hoping his smile doesn’t look too forced. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Max nods, jerkily, and goes over to his own alcove to pull on his training gear. 

Gabriel stares at his stick for a moment. Giddings gave him hell during the Habs game for being too subdued and, for the first time in a few seasons, Gabriel sat out a few shifts. He had to see the doctors this morning for a concussion test, even though he hasn’t had symptoms in months. 

Gabriel is okay. It’s okay that his father is going to be coming on the Aces’ fathers’ trip for the first time, this season, and will, presumably, pretend that Gabriel doesn’t exist. It’s okay that all anyone wants to talk about is Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson and that extended moment between them on centre ice in Providence. 

It’s okay.

♠

 

Kent wonders if he can ask the PR department to make some kind of rule that reporters don’t get to bring up Zimms unless the Aces are playing the Falconers. 

Irritably, he turns off the television. A sports anchor is drawing parallels between their styles of play which is kind of ridiculous because Zimmermann is a messy player, and it’s glorious, and he’s much better at getting scrappy, ugly goals than Kent is and that’s always been his strength. 

He picks up his phone and he’s going to text Zimms, about how ridiculous it all is, when Charbo clears his throat.

“Are you still in love with him?”

Kent looks at Charbo, kind of blankly. The question’s not making much sense.

Charbo’s obviously trying to smile. It looks terrible. “Kent. Are you still in love with him?” 

“I don’t—” says Kent. He feels mildly horrified that Charbo has had to muster up the courage even to ask.

“Okay. If he walked in the door right now and said that he wanted to get back together with you, what would you say?”

Kent frowns because that scenario is completely beyond imagination. Jack’s seeing someone and so is Kent and Kent’s not really the imaginative sort, in any case. “I think — I think I’d ask what the hell he’s been taking. I don’t want to — Shit, Charbo. I don’t want to, like, sleep with Zimms. I just want to beat his ass on the ice.” 

It’s true, too. Whatever is between him and Zimms, these days, it’s not what it was before, even if their feet rested against each other under a small table in a restaurant in Providence.

Charbo sighs but it’s not relief, or impatience. It seems more like there’s tension draining out of his shoulders. Kent looks at Charbo’s shoulders for a moment; they’re putting his tank top under an obscene amount of pressure. “Okay. But you’re still hung up on him.”

Kent tries not to flinch. “I guess I’m still hung up on playing hockey with him. It’s all I’ve wanted since I was drafted —” Kent trails off.

“So, for you, this thing with Zimmermann is about hockey? It’s not about being, like, boyfriends.” 

“Definitely not,” says Kent, as vehemently as possible. When he thinks about boyfriends, there’s more laughter and joking; there’s napping, curved around a broad back and wide shoulders.

“And what about him? Is his thing with you about hockey? Or is playing hockey with you the same as fucking?”

“I guess you’d have to ask him,” Kent mumbles, instead of asking, _Is it?_ “Like, sometimes? I just want to play with him, like we did before.”

“Kent,” says Charbo, softly. “I’m not sure you can go back to that. You’re an NHL captain. Even in a _bad_ season, you win at least one individual trophy. Zimmermann’s a _rookie_. He’s a fucking good rookie and he may even win one of your trophies this season but it’s not going to be the same, for either of you.”

“Fuck, Charbo. You been talking to Jeff? Sounds like the sort of shit he’d say.” 

Charbo laughs, quietly. “Who’d have thought Jeff would be the wise man of the team, huh?”

They’re quiet for a while. Kent turns the television on again, just to kill the silence, and he’s half-watching Gamecenter and half-watching Kit stalking through the apartment.

“Charbo,” says Kent. “Gabriel, I — I don’t want to sleep with Zimms again because I’m in love with someone else.”

“Oh,” says Charbo, after a moment. He shifts a little. “I — does this someone else feel the same?”

Kent shrugs. “I don’t know. I hope so. I guess I’ll ask him, sometime.”

He turns towards Charbo, then. Charbo’s looking straight ahead at the screen, with this determined expression, like there’s nothing he wants to focus on more right now than the Leafs crumbling. 

“Do you?” asks Kent, so quietly, he’s not sure the words even leave his mouth. 

Charbo turns his head, and he’s half-frowning. “Sorry? Do —”

“Do you feel the same?” 

“Kent,” says Charbo, his eyes wide. “ _Kent._ ” 

Kent looks down at his hands. “It’s just— it turns out I’m in love with you and I guess I want to know if —”

“ _Yes_ ,” says Charbo. “I — fuck. Kent. Are you okay?”

“What?” Kent looks up sharply.

“You’re admitting to a lot of feelings, you know?” Charbo’s smiling, in that gentle way of his, not the way that means he’s gonna fuck a guy up. He reaches out and glides his hand through Kent’s hair and Kent pushes into it, the way Kit does, when she wants to be petted. Charbo’s hand drifts to the back of Kent’s neck and then he gently tugs Kent towards him and Kent shuffles along the couch so that he’s pressed against Charbo. He has to put his hand out, to stop himself falling into him, and now his hand is resting over Charbo’s breastbone, right over his heart. 

“Fuck, you’re built,” he breathes.

Charbo snorts. “And you’re a romantic, Kent. C’mere.” 

Kent leans in further and touches his lips to Charbo’s and they’ve kissed before, when they shouldn’t have and where they shouldn’t have, but this is still so new. Kent is happy to linger over the soft slide of his lips against Charbo’s and the gentle exchange of breaths before the kiss gets any deeper.

“I’m in love with you,” says Kent, softly. “And I’m not giving up on that for all the Zimmermanns in Montreal.”

Charbo smiles and cups Kent’s cheek. “I don’t know,” he says. “Alicia is pretty amazing.”

♠

Las Vegas Aces and their Dads  
It’s time for the annual Aces’ fathers’ trip, when the fathers of the players accompany their sons on a short road trip, taking in Anaheim and San Jose. As has become customary, Kent Parson’s father, Professor Clark Parson, is wearing his Charbonneau shirt with pride. 

“I can’t bring him anywhere,” says the Aces’ captain, though he doesn’t look too concerned. “Look, it’s tradition now. He’s been wearing Charbo’s shirt since Charbo’s rookie season and we’ve always won. None of us want to mess with that, you know?” 

It’s verging on Sidney Crosby levels of superstition but why mess with success?


End file.
